


Vivid blue

by NotPersephone



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bedannibal in Florence, F/M, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, On Bicycles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 21:05:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11298831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotPersephone/pseuds/NotPersephone
Summary: “You expect us to ride bicycles?” it is an unusual idea, even for Hannibal.“This is a pleasant way of taking in the sights and enjoying the fresh air. It is better than the confinement of a car.”“But far less comfortable. Or reliable.”





	Vivid blue

It is one of these moments when no words can express Bedelia’s feelings, so she settles for a disapproving stare instead.

They were having dinner and discussing plans for the Saturday. Bedelia always looks forward to their weekends and their trips outside Florence. Hannibal adores showing her around and utterly loves seeing her enjoy herself.

“I thought we can explore the area just outside the city-” he makes a pause and Bedelia nods, urging him on.

“I have arranged for a couple bicycles to be delivered tomorrow,” he finishes with one of his more charming smiles.

Yet it does nothing to lessen the absurdity of his proposal. “You expect us to ride bicycles?” it is an unusual idea, even for Hannibal.

“This is a pleasant way of taking in the sights and enjoying the fresh air. It is better than the confinement of a car.”

“But far less comfortable. Or reliable,” his attempt of an explanation does not placate her.

“I used to bike around Florence when I was a student here,” he offers her a piece of his memories. Unlike Hannibal, Bedelia is not one to want to relive her past.

“I did not ride a bike.”

“No, you rode horses,” he states.

“Yes,” she mentioned it once and is surprised he remembers that.

“There aren’t any horse studs in the vicinity. I made enquiries,” he reluctantly admits defeat and Bedelia is taken by his sentiment.

“I have not ridden a bicycle since I was a teenager.”

“It is skill one does not forget. There is a reason behind the saying _it’s like riding a bike_.”

“I do not look forward to falling down,” she gives him an unbending look.

“I would never allow it. I will keep you safe,” his promise, the one he has kept so far.

Bedelia ponders the proposition; there are many things she has denied him over the years, this seems like a small sacrifice. She nods and he smiles.

 

On Saturday morning, Bedelia stands in front of her wardrobe contemplating her attire for a day. It is surprising Hannibal did not obtain new outfits, knowing his penchant for matching clothes to an occasion. She chooses the only item remotely appropriate, a mauve, sleeveless summer dress she does not remember getting. Her hair remains loose and she puts on a broad, straw hat to protect her from the sun. Or rather from people noticing her while she engages in this preposterous activity.

Hannibal awaits her by the door, sporting a summer outfit of his own, light trousers and shirt; his eyes sparks when he sees her.

“You should wear this more often, you look stunning.”

“If you wished to influence my fashion, you did not have to come up with such an elaborate plan,” she counters.

“Everything looks beautiful on you, I just adore seeing you in such a simple and perfect outfit,” he adds with a boyish grin.

He leads them downstairs where two bicycles are parked by the front door. Bedelia watches as Hannibal attaches a wide bag to the back of his bike. She was concerned about falling, but it seems he might be the one in need of assistance later.

With silent resignation, she gets on her bicycle. It’s painted blue and she knows it’s no coincidence. The feeling of ridiculousness is amplified by his eyes watching her intensely. Bedelia does not meet his gaze, choosing to focus on recalling her riding skills. After a few awkward attempts at moving forward, she finds her balance and pedals down the street. She does not look back or waits for Hannibal, surely, he can catch up to her, after all he is the one who knows their destination.

He appears riding next to her in a blink of an eye, smiling broadly.

“Are you all right?” he asks with a twinkle in his eyes.

“Yes,” she replies shortly, keeping her eyes on a street. The space is very narrow and Hannibal moves to ride in front of her, leading the way. His head turns occasionally, checking on her, an accident waiting to happen, Bedelia thinks.

 

Soon they leave the buildings of the city behind and a rustic panorama spreads before them. A lesser possibility of being seen by someone, a partial relief. Hannibal slows down and waits for her to level with him; they carry on riding side by side. Bedelia continues to avoid his attention and concentrates on the view in front of her.

It is a hot day, made more pleasant by a cooling breeze. The air is fragrant and Bedelia remembers her childhood summer in France, riding horses and attempting to distinguish various flower scents. They were carefree moments, away from the boundaries imposed by her parents; a fragile freedom, then gone and never recovered. Until now.

Bedelia pedals faster, enjoying the feel of wind on her skin, at once rediscovering a long-lost pleasure of simplicity.

Hannibal’s voice interrupts her thoughts. “We can stop and rest,” he suggests, once again catching up with her.

As though at a sound of his words, a small village appears in front of them. Hannibal guides them to what appears to be the only restaurant in a vicinity, a small enoteca tucked in the edges of the village, no sign to indicate its purpose, apart from bottles of wine visible on the windowsill.

They park their bicycles by the door and the proprietor comes out to greet them warmly. Bedelia is not surprised the man was expecting them; she is certain no detail of their excursion was left to chance.

What surprises her is that they do not go in, but instead Hannibal removes a bag he brought with and leads her behind the building to a spacious, and empty, garden. He takes out a blanket and spreads it meticulously on the ground. Once he is satisfied with its layout, he offers Bedelia his hand.

“Was the journey comfortable?” he enquires.

“I might experience some muscle pains tomorrow.”

“We still stay home then. We don’t even have to leave the bed,” he adds with a grin; an attempt of humour or bravado, she is not sure.

“You can be quite ridiculous, Hannibal,” she says, but a tiny smile pulls at her lips. She accepts his hand and they settle themselves on the blanket.

A waiter approaches them with a tray, a bottle of Chianti and a platter of cheese and apple slices, and places it on their blanket. Hannibal pours her a glass and Bedelia samples the food, suddenly famished. They taste the wine, it’s ruby red in colour and intense in flavour. It reminds her of Hannibal, perhaps that is the reason it is his favourite; she takes another sip, tasting the cherries.

The heady drink does not go well with the heat and Bedelia begins to feel light-headed. She puts the glass down, takes off her hat and lays back in attempt to clear her head. The sky stretches out before her eyes, she does not recall when was the last time she looked up to notice it. The azure is clear and bright, more brilliant than she ever remembers seeing.

Hannibal lays next to her and begins to gently run his fingers through the locks of her hair. She turns her head to a side, his face only a few inches away from her own.

“Is it everything you remembered from your youth?” she asks.

“It is not about repeating the past, Bedelia. I wanted to share this place with you. I thought you might enjoy the quietude,” he replies softly.

He thought right, but Bedelia says nothing. His eyes study her, assessing her emotions and she stares back. They spent years exchanging words; countless discussions about everything except what mattered most. Now the words are irrelevant, they speak best in silence.

Finally, she closes her eyes again as his fingers continue to caress her hair. Calm washes over her, the vivid blue of a sky imprinted on her eyelids. All things are more vibrant here. All things here with him.

**Author's Note:**

> Another tumblr prompt. I hope I managed to keep it in character. Criticism is welcome. Thank you for reading!


End file.
